


Anyway

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-30 23:25:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19413619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Ignis is going to be in trouble for the marks on his throat.





	Anyway

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MistressOfLions](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressOfLions/gifts).



> A/N: Fill for Mistress of Lions’ “Ignoct fic where Ignis gets hurt or is insecure for whichever reason about his relationship with Noctis, maybe Regis needs set Noctis straight a little. Would prefer to end in smut but not an absolute must and my usernames are the same for here and A03. Thank you much. Ps Vampire!Noctis would be a plus” request on [my dreamwidth](https://yeaka.dreamwidth.org/1190.html?thread=11942#cmt11942).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

_“No, you’re right; the council never seems to let out on schedule nowadays. We should plan for a later time. Would eight o’clock work for you?”_

Ignis’ mouth is dry. It wouldn’t matter to him if their meeting was at eight o’clock in the evening or two in the morning—he wouldn’t want to attend no matter the time, but he would, because he’s nothing if not a loyal citizen. He tells his king, “Of course, Your Majesty. I will be there.”

_“Thank you, Ignis. Are you with Noctis now?”_

A cold sweat is twisting down Ignis’ spine. He’s grateful that he can truthfully answer, “No, Your Majesty. But I’m sure I will see him at some point. Is there anything you would like me to relay?”

_“Nothing in particular. I was just going to send my regards. Have a good evening, Ignis. And thank you for looking out for him.”_

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” The phone clicks. Regis has hung up. Ignis lowers the phone from his ear and stares at the screen for a moment. It’s reverted back to the background image: him and Noctis sitting a tad _too_ close on the plush black couch of a poorly-lit lounge. Gladiolus was busy on the dance floor that night, and Prompto had taken the picture. 

The screen times out and goes black, leaving a shiny nothingness for Ignis to see his reflection in. The sauce below spits and crackles, starting to bubble up again. Ignis pockets his phone and turns the heat down. The pasta’s still steaming, ready to be served. Ignis mechanically pours the vegetable-ridden sauce into the pot, meekly stirring it together. He stares vacantly at the food and tries to concentrate on solely that, but his mind wanders anyway. 

Tomorrow, the king’s going to have a talk with him. He isn’t naïve. He knows what it will be about. He knows he made a mistake this morning, allowing himself to wear his collar unbuttoned. It’s been a particularly hot summer, and that’s made it difficult to remember to keep his neck hidden at all times. He’s fairly certain more than one official spotted the vivid pink marks on Ignis’ throat before he realized his error. He knows the king saw them. He knows that Regis is intelligent enough to read more into that than just the scars. 

He knew when he first gave into his feelings that he was crossing a line. He’s Noctis’ _advisor_. He’s on the Citadel’s payroll. He’s a commoner with ordinary blood. And he’s a male unable to provide heirs. There’s a plethora of reasons for him _not_ to be with Noctis, but he ignored them all because of how fast his heart beats whenever its around his prince. He always knew he’d pay for it some day. He just isn’t ready for it now. His hands shake as he sets the dining room table that Noctis only ever sits at when Ignis serves him there. Ignis fumbles with the cutlery and drops a fork. Then he takes a deep breath and tells himself to stop being ridiculous. 

It doesn’t help. He does his best to maintain his cool demeanor at all times, but that crumbles in the face of his greatest fear: being taken away from Noctis. Hopefully it won’t go that far. Hopefully he’ll simply be told to break it off. Or perhaps he’ll be forced to resign. Perhaps he’ll be exiled for daring to sully the prince. 

He doesn’t even hear the door open, doesn’t notice his company until the rich cologne Noctis has started wearing is wafting through the apartment. Ignis picked out that cologne. He needed to replace the grotesque, cheaply-made celebrity brand Noctis and Prompto had picked out on their own. 

Noctis sniffs the air when he reaches the living room, eyes the spaghetti, and grins. He’s dressed down and casual, having come from a training session with Gladiolus, and drops his bag on the floor as he walks over. For once, Ignis doesn’t comment on it. Noctis must have showered after; the cologne isn’t strong enough to completely blanket the stench of sweat, which Gladiolus always works him up to. With his dark hair a tad disheveled and his black shirt draped low across his collarbone, he looks particularly scrumptious. But Ignis often thinks that. His chest clenches with how much he _loves_ that man and how terrified he is of having it end. 

He breathes a curt, “Welcome home,” and goes to fetch them water. Noctis grins at the dinner and goes straight for his chair. He’s already seated and wolfing it down by the time Ignis joins him. Ignis quietly picks at his food while Noctis blows through it. They don’t say anything, but they don’t need to—they’ve been together long enough, know each other well enough, to be more than comfortable in silence. 

Ignis is supremely uncomfortable but doesn’t have the will to leave. Ignis rearranges the food on his plate until Noctis pushes his empty one back, announcing, “That was delicious.”

Noctis doesn’t actually complement Ignis’ cooking often. He knows Noctis does appreciate it, in his own way, but he’s not the most vocal or polite of charges. When Noctis does extend the effort, Ignis knows it means something. 

Sure enough, when he looks up, he finds Noctis’ eyes lined in red and full of _hunger_. Ignis watches Noctis’ pink lips move as he asks, “Can I have dessert?”

Ignis hollowly corrects, “May you.”

Noctis’ mouth twitches into a smirk. It’s a night where he knows what he wants, and Ignis wants it too. 

Ignis still doesn’t answer. But he doesn’t have to. Noctis gets up and strolls around the table, leaving the dirty dishes there. He extends one hand, which Ignis takes, and then Ignis is being guided over to the couch, pushed down onto it, and Noctis is crowding him up against the backrest. It feels so _good_ to have Noctis wedged between his legs, trapping him in and licking across the seam of his lips. Ignis only hesitates for a fraction of a second before opening up and welcoming Noctis’ tongue. Noctis groans into Ignis’ mouth, like he’s been waiting for this all day, and his hands grope Ignis’ body with a heated fervour. They smooth over him, tracing every little line and curve, even though Noctis must already have his body memorized. When one of Noctis’ hands snakes down to his crotch, pressing in against his limp shaft, Ignis’ breath hitches. 

Noctis pauses. He pulls back enough to tilt his head to a different angle, going in for another bone-deep kiss. He cups Ignis’ cheek and squeezes Ignis’ crotch as he sucks Ignis’ tongue into his mouth. Ignis is compliant but uninvolved. 

Noctis drowns him in a few more probing kisses, then withdraws enough to ask, “What’s wrong?”

Ignis can only frown. Noctis rubs his thumb over it and kisses it, muttering, “You usually love feeding me...”

Ignis _does_. Sometimes he worries he’s already developed a fetish for it. Usually, it thrills him to feel Noctis’ dull teeth scrape across his naked flesh, to kiss and lick them as they slowly grow, sharpen, then to bear himself open for his prince and shiver in delight as Noctis breaks his skin. There’s no rush like the roar of his own blood in his ears as Noctis steals it away. He loves the very _idea_ of serving Noctis, of sacrificing his own lifeblood for his beloved prince, but the act itself is just as intoxicating. It’s an exciting, intimate ordeal that’s long been sacred to them. He doesn’t want to admit aloud that it might be over. 

Noctis’ hand trails over to Ignis’ thigh, squeezing lightly. Ignis sucks in a breath and admits, “We... need to discuss this.”

“This?” Noctis asks, deliberately dragging his thumb over Ignis’ enclosed shaft. It’s hardening from proximity and memory: he can’t help succumbing to Noctis’ touch. But that doesn’t mean he’s any less worried. 

“Our relationship.”

Noctis stiffens. His playful touches stop. Ignis hates burdening him but still tells the truth. “I... have a meeting tomorrow... with your father...”

Noctis’ short chuckle cuts him off. Ignis’ brow knits together in confusion while Noctis makes a noise of relief. “Is that all? Jeez, Iggy. You had me worried you were gonna break up with me or something.”

It’s just like Noctis to be flippant about important things. Ignis huffs back, “ _All_? Noct, I’m going to be questioned by the _king_ —”

“It doesn’t matter; don’t worry about it. So long as you want me, and I want you, there’s nothing else to say.”

Exasperated, Ignis sighs, “There is, and you know it. It’s more complicated than that. You’re the prince, the future king of—”

“I know what I am,” Noctis interrupts again, this time with more conviction. He never likes hearing that, but it’s the truth. His grip on Ignis’ leg tightens, and he shuffles impossibly closer, so tight together that Ignis is overheating. Noctis practically growls, “I am the future king, and I’ll have whoever I want by my side. And I can’t imagine anyone more worthy of that than you.”

Ignis swallows. Noctis has begun rubbing small circles on his thigh. Noctis’ thumb keeps grazing the imprint of Ignis’ cock, and it makes it difficult to concentrate on their conversation. Ignis tries to protest. 

Noctis says over him, “You shouldn’t have to deal with that. If dad’s got something to say about us, he can say it to me.”

“Noct, I already have the meeting—”

“Well, I’m going with you.”

It warms Ignis to have that support. It’s especially meaningful because Ignis knows Noctis hates dealing with official business, and he almost _never_ volunteers to go to the Citadel, especially when any type of real talk is involved. It’s enough to know that Noctis would suffer that for him. Ignis tries to say, “That’s alright.”

“No, it’s not. You’re _mine_ okay? Not just my advisor or my donour. You’re my _partner_. I’m going to protect you, and I’m not going to let anyone else break us up. I’m going.”

When the emotion simmers down, Ignis can only nod. He doesn’t know how else to express how proud and grateful he is, so he just leans in to kiss Noctis lightly. Noctis instantly returns and deepens it. Noctis’ hand crawls back up to palm Ignis through his pants, and the new serge of adoration makes it easy to fully harden in his hand. 

Ignis returns the favour. He tries to push his fear out of his mind and focus just on _Noctis_ , just in case this is the last time. He palms Noctis back, finding an already prominent bulge there, and he maneuvers down Noctis’ fly. He squeezes Noctis’ cock as he draws it out into the air, stroking it raw and ready to wet it properly. He halts their train of kisses just so he can bend down, wanting to show Noctis just how much Ignis loves him. 

He doesn’t make it all the way. He’s barely kissed Noctis’ tip when Noctis tugs him back up by the hair. Ignis lets Noctis pluck his glasses away and quickly deposit them on the coffee table. Ignis’ confusion settles when Noctis explains between kisses in a hushed, husky murmur, “Not yet... I want to fuck your mouth after you’re spent and docile, then turn you around and make love to you until it’s all too much, and you cry in my arms...”

Ignis shivers. He understands. He wants that too. He fiddles with his own buttons as Noctis consumes his mouth, until he can pull his collar open and properly bear his throat. Noctis seems to know when he’s ready, diverting from his lips to kiss down his chin and jaw. His tongue laps over the holes left from the weekend, and then his fangs are sliding over them, ready to go. 

Noctis always waits for his final signal. Ignis moans, “Please,” and Noctis sinks in. 

Ignis’ breath is instantly stolen. He arches, struggling, hands scrabbling at Noctis’ back as Noctis curls up against him, grip almost painfully tight but so, so _good_. Ignis’ gasp breaks off in a pathetic whimper, his mind unable to control his body anymore: he moans and melts in Noctis’ arms. The feeling of it is indescribable. The pleasure far outweighs the pain. Noctis is drinking faster than usual, and Ignis is reeling. 

Noctis is touching him, squeezing and stroking his cock as the pleasure throbs in his neck, and Ignis bursts with a broken cry. He can’t help himself. He ruins his underwear and jerks up into Noctis’ hand, even as he loses the blood and strength to move. By the time Noctis stops sucking, Ignis is shaking. 

Noctis slowly withdraws. It takes intense will power for Ignis not to collapse. 

Instead, he carefully climbs off the couch. He lets himself collapse on the floor. Ignis bends over Noctis’ lap to swallow down his cock, eager for the rest of the ride.


End file.
